


Sickness and Health

by theskywasblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-09
Updated: 2011-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:36:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Angela, who wanted to see Cas hovering over sick Dean, as alluded to in <a href="http://theskywasblue.dreamwidth.org/59560.html?#cutid1">The Best of All Instructors</a>.  Fits "Contagious" for my prompt table as well (win-win!)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Sickness and Health

**Author's Note:**

> For Angela, who wanted to see Cas hovering over sick Dean, as alluded to in [The Best of All Instructors](http://theskywasblue.dreamwidth.org/59560.html?#cutid1). Fits "Contagious" for my prompt table as well (win-win!)

Sickness and Health

"He's not going to die, you know."

Cas looks unconvinced. He's hovering so perfectly at the side of Dean's bed that Sam's surprised his feet are still touching the floor.

"Fuck you, I might," Dean rasps out. He genuinely does look like hell – glassy-eyed and flushed, skin wet with fever sweat and his hair sticking up at all the worst angles, like an angry porcupine. It just figured that after everything - all the stress, the chaos and the sleepless nights – a few down days and Dean's body would finally decide that it’d had enough. There's only so much one person's immune system can take, and while Dean's always been pretty resilient, it's utter hell when a cold or flu bug finally does get him because only the strongest get through his iron-clad defences.

Sam's staying more or less clear – or as clear as he can – because whatever this is, it's nothing he wants to catch. Dean looks like something a coyote ate and then shit off a cliff.

Speaking of catching, he wonders if Cas has any immune system at all, if his newly-minted, nearly-human body is stocked up with all of Jimmy Novak's old antibodies or if he's like a baby that you shouldn't even sneeze near. Sam makes a mental note to get Cas into the medi-clinic in Sioux Falls and at least get him vaccinated. The last thing they need is him picking up the Measles or Small Pox or hell, Chicken Pox. The only thing potentially worse than dealing with Dean when he's sick would be dealing with a feverish and itchy former-angel who can’t even wait for his toast to pop at breakfast without getting antsy.

It's definitely too late to stop Cas' exposure to this particular germ, though – after all, he and Dean have been sleeping together for the last week and a half. Just _sleeping_ , Sam thinks (not that he's going to ask for any more details than that) but yeah, there's something going on there – something he missed a large portion of while he was lost inside his own head, trying not to go crazy. Something happened between Dean and Cas; something that made an angel human, something that saved Sam from insanity, something that saved the _world_.

Maybe it was big, maybe it was small. It's none of Sam's business, really; he just wants his brother to be happy.

He wants all of them to be happy, actually. God knows they deserve it. At least, God had better know by now.

"I'll go into town and bring you back some stuff," Sam announces, finally – because he's not going to spend all day hovering in the doorway.

"The good stuff," Dean growls, pushing the blankets off, wiping sweat off his forehead, then pulling them up again, shivering. They tangle around his legs and Cas has to help him. He ignores Dean's over-dramatic bitching like a pro.

"The good stuff," Sam promises, which means something with Codeine, so Dean can basically drug himself into a coma and wake up in three or four days when the germs have been beaten into a reasonable form of submission.

"What can I do to help?" Cas asks, and he looks so honestly desperate about it that Sam almost feels bad for the fact that he doesn’t know yet that looking after Dean when he’s sick is about as easy as herding cats; but Sam figures he’s put in enough Florence Nightingale hours with Dean over the years that it really ought to be someone else’s turn for a change.

“Make sure he drinks lots of fluids?” Sam suggests with a half-shrug. “And if he gets hungry you can ask Bobby to make some chicken soup.”

“No soup...” Dean moans, tunnelling under the blankets like he’s trying to escape; pure, unadulterated drama queen. “Gonna die...”

He gives a few exaggerated hacks for effect. Sam rolls his eyes at the ceiling as Cas sits carefully on the edge of the bed, like he’s worried that he’ll hurt Dean if he makes the mattress shift too much. “Sam says you are going to be fine.”

“Sam lies.”

Sam would bitch about that – not that there’s no truth to it at all, but no one is innocent in their fucked up little world – but Cas is running his fingers through Dean’s hair and Dean’s like...nuzzling up into the palm of his hand, and Sam’s gotta get the hell out of the house before _he_ gets sick.

He’s pretty sure there’s nothing in the drug store to fix that.

-End-


End file.
